Perfect Storm
by Pneumonia
Summary: The structural balance of the world was tilting ever since the war with Gaea. When tragic events set heroes apart, leaving some dead and others distraught sacrifices must be made. Even so, five years later a coincidence involving Percy Jackson sets the end of the world in motion.
1. Coincidence

**Look who's back with another multi-chapter fic? Me of course! This is one going to be relatively confusing, considering it _is _a Percy Jackson and Marvel crossover. Now that I said that, let me clear up a few things.**

**IMPORTANT:  
>- The events of this fic are placed five years after<em> Blood of Olympus<em> in the Percy Jackson world. Events are the same unless specified as something different.  
>- In terms of Marvel, this fic is set after the <em>Avengers<em> but before _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_, before _Thor: The Dark World_ and _before Iron Man 3_. The events of those three movies may occur during the fic as it progresses or not at all. Multiple things have changed therefore if events of those movies take place, they occur slightly differently in regards to the fic's parameters.  
><strong>**- Do not take Marvel's: _Agents of SHIELD _into account as that will have no relevance to this fic (unless I specify the appearance of a certain character _*cough*_ who isn't dead _*cough*_)  
><em>- The Amazing Spider-Man<em> will play into this story, following the events of _The Amazing Spider-Man 2_.  
><strong>**_- The Guardians of the Galaxy_ will not be mentioned, and henceforth think their existence void unless otherwise specified.  
>- The X-Men will <em>probably<em> not be integrated in this fic by name, although mutants will most likely be mentioned. Any characters or references will be taken only from _X-Men: First Class_ and _X-Men: Days of Future Past_ in order to simplify things.  
><strong>

**I think that's everything, but if I forgot to mention anything else important than I will surely mention it later. Expect weekly updates, usually on Mondays. I will notify you guys in advance if I won't be able to stick to schedule.  
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**Warning: This fic is rated T for language and implied adult themes. Action and gore will be integrated, and if anyone thinks the rating should change to M let me know.  
><strong>

**Pneumonia**

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><p><strong><span>Chapter One: Coincidence<span>**

_November 19th, 2012  
>3:24am<br>Earth_

Percy sighed as he took a swig from his glass of vodka.

Being a half-blood was never easy. It always involved evading the law, getting attacked by monsters and being able to respond to any Gods' needs at a moment's notice. Since the day he had slayed the Minotaur when he was twelve, Percy knew his life would never be the same. Myths proceeded to come to life and Percy became one of the greatest heroes of all time.

He saved Olympus _twice_.

He _survived_ Tartarus.

He _battled_ Titans, Gods, Giants and Primordial forces _alike_.

Even after coming out of all that _alive_, he should have known luck was never on his side. If it hadn't been for the ten previous years why should that have changed in the timespan it took for him to become a battle-seasoned warrior?

The bar around him was empty for a Friday night, with only one other person hanging around. To be fair it probably wasn't even Friday night anymore as Percy considered the length of time he sat there, it was more likely that the morning hours already passed. He silently observed the bystander with eyes trained to see any vulnerabilities, weak points and strengths. Even five years of isolation hadn't settled his mind or dulled the bloodlust he felt when he saw the potential for conflict.

Most of time Percy wished the world would throw him its worst, just for curiosity's sake. After all, what more could it possibly do after it sent him to _hell_ and _back_?

The immediate shock of returning from Tartarus hadn't affected him as much as it should have. For the most part, he integrated back into his daily routine of saving the world, and indulged himself back into his cause of defeating the threat at the time – Gaea. He fooled himself that he was fine, that everything was okay and that nothing could break him.

The vodka suddenly tasted bitter at the back of his throat as he remembered.

Tartarus had left him unhinged much like a paperclip that couldn't be bent back into shape. Of course he'd tried, but no matter what he did that paperclip could never be exactly the way it had been before. There would always be a blemish that stained its appearance with something unnatural. The others hadn't noticed it right away. They had thought he was still under shock, or upset from Leo's death therefore they didn't press the matter.

First it started with his lack of rambunctiousness.

They took note when he stopped making odd remarks about the blatantly obvious and when he faltered voicing any immediate thoughts brought to his attention. They noticed when he stopped cracking jokes at every occasion he possibly could and fell into a system where he never spoke unless spoken to. By that time they became deeply concerned and it was Annabeth whom was first to guess what was troubling him so.

The others could have never understood the terror that was Tartarus. They never had to experience the poison air that crushed his lungs or view the hordes of monsters that roamed. They never had to experience the _darkness_ he was enveloped with or the way sunlight could never feel right again.

Annabeth knew, but even she didn't understand what it did to _him_.

He didn't realize it until _that_ day – the one that changed everything. Tartarus had made him cruel and immoral. It had torn apart the loyalty he felt, leaving himself as a fallen hero without a fatal flaw. It left him abandoned in a world that only he could see, clouded his vision like the Mist that no longer affected his mind.

Here he was four years later, gulping down the anger and sorrow with another mouthful of the now dreadful-tasting alcohol. He allowed himself to close his eyes from a brief moment and let his thoughts wander further into good memories. He never really thought about _her_ anymore, he couldn't bear the gut-wrenching pain it brought him. He couldn't stand knowing that his partner of body and soul was torn away with pain equivalent to never-ending torture. Just before he allowed the tears to spill, Percy once again steeled his mind and faced the world around him.

He shifted to get his phone out of his pocket. When he was younger, he was warned that such devices acted as a homing signal for monsters to demi-gods such as himself, but honestly he didn't believe it anymore. He'd had a cell phone for a few years now and the only monster attacks he'd faced were the sporadic periodic half-hearted ones whether he used the device or not.

However, it didn't matter how many times Percy looked at the phone in the lowlighting, the lowest brightness always seemed to blind his retinas for half-seconds at a time, acting as further proof of the permanent damage Tartarus had caused him physically. When his eyes adjusted to the lighting, he was hardly surprised to see it half-past three in the morning.

Starring at his fourth empty glass of vodka sitting atop the bar, he decided that he drank enough for one night. Right now if he were normal, he would probably be out cold. It was odd really, how alcohol didn't affect him. Sure, he's felt a light buzz now and then, but he was never able to actually get drunk. Trust him, he'd _tried_. He assumed it had something to do with his control over liquids and the fact that it was nothing less than impossible for him to get dehydrated. Chuckling to himself, Percy guessed he probably had the strongest alcohol tolerance in the world.

The barmaid standing a few feet away was texting like no tomorrow. She sporadically glanced around the bar at uneven intervals, probably counting the total of two customers and determining whom still had a tab to pay. He realized this particular bar closed at four in the morning, so the barmaid was most likely anxious to end her shift and go home.

Casually, Percy shifted his frame off of the stool that he'd adopted as his own in the past few hours and slipped out his wallet. Counting the bills he needed along with a decent tip he placed them on the counter before retrieving his phone and heading for the door. On his way out he was surprised to hear the barmaid call out to him, almost as if he'd forgotten something. Upon turning around, he realized she was the one whom he actually talked to on occasion when he felt like dishing his normal problems to someone. She proceeded to wipe down the counter and collect the fee he left.

Percy raised a tired eyebrow in her direction, frankly unwelcome to the distraction. The late hour was finally catching up to his sleep deprived mind and all he wanted to do was head back to his apartment and sleep away the rest of the day.

"You're not planning on driving are you?" She asked in what seemed like concern as Percy fondled his motorcycle keys. This immediately waved alarm bells in Percy's mind. Monsters did this – make small talk before they attempted to kill you. Although Percy had met the barmaid before he still couldn't trust his judgement. Ms. Dodds had been the first monster disguised as a human in order to kill him, and since then she sure hadn't been the _last_.

"I'm fine," he replied sincerely. He supposed even if she wasn't a monster she wouldn't believe him considering he just drank enough vodka to give him alcohol poisoning. Maybe that why she was asking, not because she was a monster, but because she was one of those odd New Yorkers that cared for the wellbeing of others.

"No, you're not. It's crazy that you're even standing. If you don't call a ride I'll call the cops." She said with an air of authority as she shifted her brown hair behind her ears.

Percy sighed in annoyance, obviously this girl was very righteous towards other's well-beings. She wasn't a monster. He was just paranoid.

"Want me to walk a straight line for you? I don't sound like I'm slurring do I? What further proof do you need?" Percy said with irritation lacing his words as he proceeded to walk a few steps towards the barmaid in what was indeed a _straight_ line.

Slightly taken aback, the barmaid blinked her hazel eyes in disbelief, "I still can't let you drive. It's illegal–" Her sentence was interrupted by the sound of a chair screeching towards the far corner of the room, where a single man draped in a trench coat proceeded to get up.

Percy watched him with his peripheral vision. His fingers suddenly buzzed with anticipation at the prospect of something he didn't know. It set the hairs on the back of his neck on edge and excited him all the same. Something about the man was causing his demi-god instincts to spark. Immediately the thought of a monster fight to let off some accumulated steam sounded incredibly appealing.

Unconsciously and unnoticeably, Percy shifted his feet into a slightly stronger stance as he continued to keep the corner of his eye trained on the figure. Percy watched in what would seem like disinterest to others as the man made his way over to where he was standing. Of course, Percy _was_ blocking the door at the moment, so the realistic option was that Percy was simply in the man's way.

"Hey," the barmaid spoke up once again, and this time her voice wasn't directed to Percy, "You haven't paid your tab."

With the speed of a bullet, the cloaked figure suddenly lunged for Percy with an appendage that was definitely not an arm. If Percy wasn't prepared for it, he would have most likely been hit wherever the monster was aiming. However, as quickly as the monster lashed out, Riptide transformed and countered the blow without a millisecond to spare. With the same movement, Percy brought the blade upwards on what he now identified a claw and without a second thought dust spurted from where the limb was severed.

The monster faltered slightly as it comprehended its failed surprise attack and quickly attempted to back away in order to prepare a form of defense or strategize a new offence. Percy didn't give the monster the time of day considering he predicted that very same movement, Percy lashed out with his foot to give the monster _extra_ momentum. With this Percy effectively startled his foe once more, causing the monster to stumble backwards over a table.

Percy didn't give the monster a moment of reprieve before his onslaught continued. He leaped over the overturned table to stab the monster through its cloak and into its chest. Sand pooled like a liquid around Riptide, however the monster didn't completely dissipate yet. With a final slash, Percy raised his sword from the wound and beheaded the now uncloaked menace. Immediately the remaining body parts exploded into a cloud of the golden dust, managing to dissipate into the air within a moment's notice, leaving nothing but an overturned table and a kneeling Percy.

The first thing Percy did when his vision adjusted once more to the scenery around him was to make sure no other monsters were lurking nearby. Once that inspection was complete, his attention was directed once more to the girl whom looked wide eyed and terrified.

Even from the distance across the bar, Percy could tell she was shaking and without a doubt he realized she could see through whatever the Mist had made of his encounter. Standing up slowly, he attempted to remember the last time that had happened. It was around seven years ago, during his quest to find Annabeth. Rachel Dare had been able to see through the Mist and had actually aided him in his fight. Admittedly, Rachel had seen skeletal warriors, but what was the difference anyway?

Percy expertly recapped and pocketed Riptide in one smooth motion. It seemed to have calmed the barmaid slightly.

"A sword. Out of nowhere. Oh God it's New Mexico all over again–" She started rambling before she suddenly clamped her mouth shut in what seemed like realization.

"You're one of _them_ aren't you?" The brunette raised her eyebrow in question.

Percy's mind was working at a hundred miles per hour, trying to clue together anything he could. This girl had perhaps seen something similar in New Mexico, even if that seemed odd to Percy. Further, the way she said "them", _could_ she be referring to demi-gods?

"Calm down," Percy started slowly, "I'm not going to hurt you–"

"I've seen enough movies to know when a stranger tells you they _aren't_ going to hurt you – they _totally_ are." She scoffed in a slightly childish way, and if the situation weren't so serious at the moment Percy might have thought she reminded him slightly of himself.

"I'm serious. Hear me out. That thing you just saw, _that_ was a monster. _That_ would have killed _me_. Understand?" Percy drawled, deeply hoping that was enough to sate the curiosity of the mist-immune girl.

"Well no duh, hard to hide the scales and everything, but what did _you_ do to it? So far, you seem like the more dangerous one to me," She analyzed the situation in what she probably thought was a logical way, but to Percy it just made talking his way out of this _so_ much harder.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to the answers to," Percy said harshly, hoping to deter the barmaid from her investigation. Percy really didn't feel like ruining her life by revealing the world he was a part of. Too many good people got killed that way, and he didn't want to witness anymore casualties because of him.

"Oh," she dragged out the sound as she fixed her glasses, "I get it. You _are_ one of them, all top-secret and stuff. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that I found out you were following me," she winked in a conspicuous way, "but, can I know why you use a sword? Usually you guys have some high-tech guns and gismos."

Percy blanched. _What_ was she talking about? He was now almost positive she _didn't _know about demigods, or else she wouldn't have commented on the sword. No one he knew – maybe besides some Hephaestus kids – used any "high-tech guns and gismos". He also couldn't come up for a reason why demi-gods might be following her. She was too old to be an ignorant half-blood and Percy doubt she had anything to do with the Romans since she worked at a bar in New York.

Instead of carefully organizing an answer as he had been prior, for a moment all reason abandoned him when he muttered a flabbergasted, "What _are_ you talking about?"

She widened her eyes a little in shock, but slowly a grin rose to her face. "You're good, I swear you could be an actor – you almost had me there. I get that you gotta keep all this on the down-low, so how about I drive you to wherever you people sleep and I'll see you tomorrow?"

To say Percy was confused would be an understatement. Maybe he was confused before, when she had mentioned something about knowing whom he was, but _now_, along with the fact that she was willing to drive him home was _preposterous_. What kind of person expected to be followed by people with "high-tech guns and gismos" along with the capability to kill _monsters_? What it some kind of organization? She mentioned something about him being top-secret, but what about the monster bit? Monsters didn't just go after regular people. While Percy was lost in thought, the barmaid started talking again – to his gratitude _and_ horror – while she started cleaning up the bar in a carefree manner.

"Just give me a few minutes – its closing time anyway – and we can be off," She stated cheerily, as if she wasn't just about to drive a total stranger somewhere. After another few moments of silence where Percy couldn't find anything to fill gap – even _denying_ the offer didn't seem like a possibility anymore – she proceeded to ask Percy the number one ice-breaking question in the world.

"Can I at least know your name?" Her tone was slightly sarcastic, as if she didn't expect to get an answer.

"Percy." He responded dryly, still quite unsure how to react to his current predicament.

"Per-cy," she tried the name out, "I like it – it has a nice ring. Well as long as we're introducing ourselves," she started her sentence just as she finished cleaning and held out her hand for what Percy assumed was going to be a handshake, "I'm Darcy."


	2. Imprisonment

**Okay! I'm back and with a few more important side notes. But first - reviews.  
><strong>_Guest 1_: It will be explained in a couple chapters, don't worry!  
><em>deathtoanarchy<em>: Thanks so much! Hopefully I don't disappoint!  
><em>AsDarknessSpreads<em>: You're getting intuitive. ;) Thanks for the advice!  
><em>Guest 2<em>: It may be meticulous, but all I'm doing is trying to avoid any confusion.  
><em>Winterlover6<em>: Thanks, but you haven't seen (read?) anything yet! :P  
><em>omega2199<em>: Thanks! I've never used a beta before and for now I think I'm okay. Thank you for offering.  
><em>Guest 3<em>: As for parings, this is not a romance fic. Some things may be implied, but for the most part it is Percabeth.

**I'm sorry to do this again, but I had to re-work a few things for the plot, and I have to specify a few more placements for the timeline.  
><strong>**- I said previously this occurs before Thor: The Dark World. That still stand, however, assume Loki was already placed in prison.  
><strong>**- This fic is placed at the end of the Amazing Spider-Man 2, (after Gwen's death) but before the 5 month absence of the wall-crawler. For the sake of the fic, this absence does not occur unless specified.  
>- This is based on the CINEMATIC Marvel universe, although small comic-oriented specifications of things may be implied for the sake of the plot. No background knowledge of the comics is needed. If anyone is curious, any small tidbits of information will only be taken from Earth 616.<strong>

**BEFORE I FORGET - I INCLUDED A SETTING IN THE FIRST CHAPTER AS WELL, AS NOTED IN ITALICS UNDERNEATH THE TITLE.  
><strong>

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><p><span><strong>Chapter Two – Imprisonment<strong>

_Date Unknown  
>Time Unknown<br>Asgard_

Waiting was never one of Loki's strong suits.

After all, it involved patience, much of which he lacked these days. Especially after his ordeal with The Other, where he had foolishly assumed following his plans would have been interesting, possibly even successful, but alas anything that needed to be done _right_ had to be done by oneself – _alone_. Loki had allowed his mind to be influenced and all it did was limit his prowess and end in failure. However, it was nothing more than distasteful in the grand scheme of things.

His prison was a joke.

The Asgardians all believed him contained and powerless, but none of them knew the power he held. They could guess, they thought they _knew,_ but in their comparative perspective he was nothing short of all-powerful due to their meager standards. The mortals had even thought _muzzling _him was going to stop the simple strings of words that crushed men and fooled Gods. The all thought mere _chains_ would limit his movements. The treated him like he was a _mortal_. They thought him _weak_.

Well, Asgardians _weren't_ known for their intelligence.

Despite all this, Loki didn't dare let them believe otherwise, for the sheer-amount of his power was a mystery to all but himself, and he intended to keep it that way as long as he could. It was true that his power had weakened while on Midgard, but the Asgardians were absolutely foolish to think he was _powerless_.

After all, even upon his entry to Midgard he had held the barest minimum of his power, small fragments regained only through the might of the Tesseract. With that he had managed a war, and the Avengers barely had him defeated. The thought made Loki grin. _Now_, he was back on Asgard and finally he could feel the energy surge throughout his veins with renewed vigor, finally giving him the reprieve he needed after so much deep-space exploration.

It wouldn't be long before he would set his next scheme in motion. In fact, all things considered, it already was.

The Asgardians and mortals alike had thought his journey to Midgard a failure, but what they hadn't known is exactly how many times _prior_ he'd been to Midgard. They thought his first corporal journey there had been when he used the Tesseract to open a gate into the realm – which was considerably easier than his other methods in retrospect – although, that had been the later of many journeys.

In fact, he had been banished by Zeus to Tartarus on multiple occasions due to his dwellings on what they called Earth, (admittedly, he had caused chaos for his amusement) but Loki wasn't about to relive those experiences. Nor was he going to commemorate the fact that Aphrodite had escaped his enslavement simply because Zeus could not fathom it. Hence his second "vacation" to the realm of the damned, and Loki wasn't keen on reliving those older memories either. They had practically been half a millennia ago.

In fact, the only flaw Loki could find in his present plan was the lack of interference from the Midgardian Greek Gods. They hadn't bat an eyelash during his assault on what was practically their doorstep, leaving the supposed Avengers to counter his army. Perhaps they had believed in mortals for once, but Loki doubted. Something _must_ have happened to force them not to play a hand. Even more so, during that ordeal Loki had _hoped_ to anger the Gods, force them to reveal themselves to the mortals that no longer worshipped them. Since they hadn't, as Loki had predicted, it was fortunate Loki set his plan years before, or else he might have failed his true objective. There were plenty other pieces arranged in his favour, and now all he needed was an appropriate pawn.

He hadn't realized, that with the monarchy of the Greek Gods, mortals weren't their descendants. As the Gods once overthrew the Titans, he had thought those insolent beings were the next step to overthrow the Gods. Undoubtedly it had been a rare moment of utter stupidity, one that almost jeopardized his plans. Loki had forgotten one key element, something perhaps so obvious he couldn't fathom it being that simple.

Silently, he pressed his palm against the magical barrier of his cell.

It was foolish really, for Odin to condemn him to an _Asgardian_ prison, especially one that used sorcery. Sorcery was _his_ weapon, and any who thought they could wield it against him – well that was frankly idiotic. It was times like this where Loki actually attempted to comprehend the stupidity of Asgardians, considering that very same stupidity would factor into his plans. Sometimes, he just _couldn't_ grasp how such simplistic matters were overlooked.

It was also times like this where Loki deigned the possibility that they _weren't_ stupid and that he was just smart. However likely, he couldn't allow himself to truly believe it or else without a doubt he would become careless.

Loki couldn't have that, now could he?

Feeling the barrier shimmer and wane under the pressure he applied through his fingertips, he moved them in a soundless melody. It was comical really, considering it wouldn't take more than a second for him to break through it, considering it needed only a pint of brute force and a significant amount of knowledge. These barriers were meant for the underdeveloped thoughts of the criminals ensnared into Odin's trap. None of them had the keen sense of mind that allowed Loki to understand the way the density of the wavelengths shifted underneath his fingers, to calculate the number of realities this fabric of space and time entwined with or how a simple precise movement would disable this realm for barely a quarter-second.

All he had to do, Loki thought as he let his fingers dance atop the shimmering surface, is find the origin of the barrier. It couldn't have been larger than a needle point, but with his senses trained to create and dismantle sorcery it was an easy task.

Each day Loki would stand here, place his hand on this particular part of the barrier, and reassure himself of his escape if necessary. He was never trapped. He had known how to leave his prison the moment he was locked inside it. The reason he hadn't escaped already (because he surely could) was for one simple reason: it was not time. Too many variables were still unknown, too many circumstances not planned for. All he could do for now was plan and wait for the time when he could set the major parts of his plan in motion.

He had a feeling he would be called for soon enough. If the events he had set in motion proved fruitful, he wouldn't even need to escape his cell himself. For now, to any that saw him, he was but an illusion of peace, reading without a care whatsoever. But, if they _could_ they wouldn't see him leisurely relaxing, he would be there analyzing, planning and scheming for every one of the scenarios that could occur between now and forever.

Lowering his hand from the barrier, a slow pulse reverberated throughout it, stabilizing the barrier once more. The guards trained to watch the prisoners were as always motionless, usually never moving anything but their eyes. Loki locked eyes with the one that was watching him. The guard looked right through him to the illusion of himself reading a book. These guards may have seemed alert to all the other prisoners, prepared for any diversions that any may attempt, but Loki knew better. These guards were not analyzing, they were scared. Some of the nine-realm's most dangerous criminals dwelled in this stronghold and the guards were dreading the moment any of them attempted to escape. In fact, the guards' gazes may have been scrutinizing towards the cells' occupants, but ever since Loki had been walked into the dungeon he could _sense_ the terror he caused them.

After all, when he was first brought to his cell, he had been bound by a number of chains infused with sorcery, which the Asgardians _thought_ were powerful enough to contain him, and they had even _dared_ to re-muzzle him with the cursed object S.H.I.E.L.D. had made. Admittedly, they had added enchantments, even if Loki didn't see the benefit of doing so otherwise than terrifying the guards on duty.

All the guards knew the tales of how Loki could turn their minds to mush with barely a word.

When he had entered his cell, his bonds had been removed and they had called upon his mother to soundproof it so none of his words would reach the ears of those around him. If _anyone_ knew how dangerous his voice was, it was Frigga. His adopted mother was one of the only beings in the world Loki truly cared for, and she understood him more than any of the others. She felt his desire to rule, wept at his imprisonment and wished anything but using her sorcery against one of her sons.

Loki had not said a word as she did it, out of respect for her. In the brief moments where he had been un-muzzled and audible, he could have disrupted the minds of all the guards present and even gone so far as to upset his brother further. But, he hadn't, and now he could now scream bloody murder and none would blink for he was muted to all but himself. Loki didn't mind. He could restore sound to his voice whenever he pleased – be it by leaving the cell or simply breaking the enchantment – though he hadn't as he did not care to goad the guards anyway. It was better to let them all believe he _was _powerless. His voice was a very lethal weapon, but it was far from his only one. It might have been the most resourceful and perhaps the weapon he was most skilled at, but that didn't matter at the moment.

Slowly, he walked around his confined space, contemplating the scenario of his imprisonment.

It was perhaps obvious, but his sentiment dulled his insight on the topic. At first, the All-Father had wished his lips sewn shut by none other than the Enchantress whom was another prisoner skilled in manipulating the minds of men. If she had bound her curse into the thread in order to stop the flow of truth and lies alike that resounded from Loki's mouth, only she would be able to undo it. It had shocked Loki at first, but nonetheless he had laughed. It seemed so _human_ to disable speech in such a way, to bind the gap with a needle and thread, to stop the silken strung syllables he manifested simply by rendering him unable to speak. However, furthermore to Loki's amusement, Thor had _refused_ the idea, claiming it cruel and that even his _brother_ had not sunk so low as to be muted permanently in such a disrespectful way. Loki hadn't known whether to be touched or offended. Having his lips bound by the Enchantress seemed invigorating, the introduction of a new dilemma that would simply strengthen him further. In the end Odin had surprisingly agreed with Thor and the result was instead using Frigga's sorcery to soundproof his containment.

Loki closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was free of his cell in a reality none could see. He had not actually escaped, he simply created an illusion of himself to which he focused his conscience. He looked back towards where the guards watched his visible illusion casually flip the page of a novel. He then proceeded to walk alongside the guards on watch and further down into the dungeon. He spared no glance to the creatures of the nine-realms idling in their cells. They were not of importance. That was until he viewed the golden hair of a maiden whom sat curiously in her cell, her eyes turned towards him. If he didn't know better, he would have guessed she sensed his presence.

The only disappointment Loki felt towards the path taken for his muteness was that he would not meet the Enchantress. The tales of her power were thrilling, as she used much of the same web as Loki to ensnare her victims. He was curious however, on why her power only worked on men. He supposed that it was possible she wasn't skilled enough to manipulate women, but somehow he felt it was more of a preference. The marvels of speech were wonderful, but to limit it like that, Loki couldn't help but feel like there was wasted potential. It was a shame that he would not be able to turn her into a pawn like many others, due to the fact that he would not have the circumstantial events to do so.

That was unless he convinced Thor that he was so utterly wretched that the only way to refute his behaviour was to condemn himself to such a fate of silence.

Looking at the women before him, Loki wished he could have a conversation with her to truly understand what it meant to speak to someone as compelling as himself. Nothing he did was for naught however, as one day he_ was _going to speak with the women that might be able to control his mind as he could many others. In fact, he might just consider altering his plan slightly to include her involvement.

In actuality, having the Enchantress in his plan would further the chance of success, and if not, could escape failure almost completely unscathed. It was ideal. Loki would only now need to enmesh her to his will…

That was when Loki decided that since it was ever-boring in his cell, he might as well create some chaos in the form of some much-deserved entertainment. It was in this moment that he was committed himself to meeting the Enchantress, simply because he felt like it. Nothing could deter his carefully thought out plans anyway, not even the loss of his voice. It was time to convince Thor that he _did_ need his lips sewn shut by none other than the bewitcher of men.

Therefore, Loki supposed, it was time for some _mischief_.


	3. Connections

**I'm sorry, I know I'm a day late. You guys probably don't want to hear excuses (even if they are valid) so I'm just going to tell you the main factor that prevented this upload. Internet problems. (Not to mention that I got sick, traveled, and have been _really _busy,all of which have made this chapter almost impossible to write.) I'm warning you guys right now, this chapter was very odd for me to write, and I think it is strongly OOC. I do not like it, so any criticism is gladly accepted. I also haven't proofread it, so if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes I am once again sorry.  
>Reviews:<strong>  
><em>Winterlover6<em>: Haha, thanks so much! I tried ;)  
><em>ThatOneWeirdGuy<em>: ... ;)  
><em>FictionFantasy VI<em>: Thanks so much! I'm trying to create an intricate plot that seems _plausible..._ so it's not to easy. I'm glad you're enjoying it. Your review made my day!  
><em>AsDarknessSpreads<em>: Lol, I honestly didn't like him much at first in Thor, but he grew on me in the Avengers. (AKA the story of almost _every_ fangirl)  
><em>KarinaMoreno2000<em>: Here's my update :P, even if it's a day late. Don't worry there is a reason, and if I don't re-review my chapter layout before the next chapter, than yes I think _some_ information will be there.  
><em>PizzaCanBePoetsToo<em>: Thanks!

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter Three: Connections<strong>

_November 19__th__, 2012  
>7:12am<br>Earth_

Natasha Romanoff was in a particularly sour mood.

In wasn't anything unusual that she had to work undercover in order to defeat, solve, restrain or murder certain "scenarios". This part didn't bother her. It was her job, it was what she signed up for ever since Barton convinced her to defect sides, and in the end, it had been a step up on the ladder of morals. Don't get her wrong, she knows she's committed far too many immoral things to ever wish to be entirely redeemed. It didn't bother her. All Natasha cared about was living for the moment and the path that made her life worth living. The thing that did bother her enough to lower her mood, however, was the fact that Nick Fury suddenly told her to investigate the murder of a teenager like it was nothing usual.

She was a spy – a master of espionage. Natasha supposed it justified Fury's reasoning's' to make her into a detective when it was called for. But, she was also a master assassin, and even if this particular request was in her skill range, it just didn't sit well with her. It wasn't even practical. She knew Fury made this decision for reasons only he knew, for plots he was only dreaming of and for connections she might only be able to identify. It wasn't that Natasha didn't respect Fury or his judgement. She most certainly did, no questions asked. Although, when it came to questions, she wasn't too sure whether she wanted to know the answers to the ones she got, or if she was even asking the right ones anymore. The Director had as much blood on his hands as she did and he ran a world-wide organization to protect people while she was left harming the ones who didn't believe in his philosophies.

Natasha may be ruthless, cunning, and many more flattering and very un-flattering things to all whom knew her, but if one thing was certain it was that she was not an emotional person. She didn't have any religious ideals to follow, no family with hope to impress, and nobody she cared enough about to have it plastered in the stars. Therefore, just the aspect that she was disagreeing with Fury was odd. She knew he always did what he thought was best and she supported him. He told her what to do, that was obvious, but he never told her _how_ to do it. Respectively, she's never told him how to do his job either. Their relationship worked out of mutual understandings and objectives, things they _both_ sympathized to.

That's why Natasha just couldn't understand the need he'd had for _her specifically,_ to investigate the murder of a teenager instead of someone completely capable but less well-known, someone that wasn't going to attract attention or seem _incredibly _out of place. Someone like Agent Hill.

Of course, she had suggested this theory as politely as she could to the Director, but all she received were a few more words with no more meaning than gibberish and an assignment she was still unpleased to work on.

That's why at this particular moment in time, Natasha stood facing a demolished energy plant as the sun attempted to bleed its rays throughout the fog of the morning haze. It was on the outskirts of the district, allowing her a clear view of the murky depths that surrounded Manhattan. Adjusting her autumn over-coat, she strode purposefully towards the unrecorded site of death for the victim.

Natasha just didn't know why it involved her.

She was never given details unless she specifically asked for them, and this time even Fury hadn't told her. It was surprising to say the least, considering he had her personally investigate the Avengers initiative when she had been a part of it. Due to that, Natasha found it very hard to come up with a plausible reason as to keep her misinformed.

The only connection Natasha had possibly come up with for this rather random and untimely investigation was that the night Gwen Stacy died was also on the same day of Loki's invasion. But even this didn't make sense, because regrettably plenty of people had died during that ordeal so it didn't seem like such a crazy thing that this recently graduated female would have died in that incident. The only other possibility Natasha could come up with as to this peculiar scenario would be the fact that it had happened _hours_ after they had defeated Loki and his alien army, meaning her death had been a possible result of an unknown aftermath.

As she perused through the oddly designed power plant, she noticed the even more oddly placed clock tower that was the even stranger place of Miss Stacy's death. It was obvious that the clock tower was broken. The hands read the time being around 1:21 when it was clearly a quarter past seven as Natasha quickly checked her accurate watch.

Using her somewhat existent detective skills, she attempted to skillfully evaluate the situation. Assuming the clock was working when Miss Stacy was here and had malfunctioned, 1:21 – which Natasha assumed was the following morning – could possibly be the exact time of the girl's unfortunate death. If not, it was simply another useless factor in an investigation of nothing, considering there were no leads, no body to investigate or any witnesses to contact. All Natasha knew was the location and even that didn't seem any helpful.

However, she also knew Fury wouldn't give her something to work on if there wasn't a way in order to do so. There had to be something there, some sort of clue as to what happened to Miss Stacy on that particular night, and it was Natasha's job to figure it out. Finally understanding the difficulty of this particular case, Natasha assumed that could be one of the factors as to why she was the sole person assigned to solve it. Perhaps the Director believed in her intellect as much as her prowess in espionage, or he just really, _really_ felt like pissing her off, especially when he didn't give her any details as to _why_ she needed to solve this in the first place.

As far as she knew, this could be up to the NYPD and had nothing to do with S.H.I.E.L.D. whatsoever.

Despite what she believed, she didn't have a choice in matter. She had to figure out something, and if she didn't, well she would have to face Fury empty handed. Even to someone like Natasha, that _wasn't an option_.

Her only clue at this point was the very obvious _Oscorp Power_ sign plastered across the energy plant. They had formerly run the electrical grid throughout New York City until it went haywire with what Natasha assumed was Loki's wormhole. The city had blackened, and along with all the chaos occurring there had to be some major electrical interference. Somehow Stark tech managed to take over but not without a fight. In Natasha's opinion, Norman Osborn's death had also killed his company. His son was managing it well enough, but after the grid collapse and Stark initiating his control – it was only a matter of time until the company either died or became a smaller branch of Stark Industries.

Even so as she walked inside the power building, she was surprised to see most of the electrical properties functioning normally. It wasn't until she tried to reach the upper levels she began to see bloodstains and the obvious neglect to the machines. As she looked out from the illuminated windows, from the neglected control panel, she noticed another peculiar thing.

Some sort of nylon cord, presumably a conductor, was attaching four of the power mainframes – whom were most definitely torn apart – back together and somehow keeping the grid functioning. Curious, Natasha left the building once again to see the strange structure. As she approached, she recognized it not only as nylon cord but the webbing of the almost non-existent vigilante – Spider-Man.

She hadn't heard of him for months, but she supposed that could have been because she was so preoccupied with S.H.I.E.L.D. matters she never noticed. He was just another one of those named superheroes in the world and she couldn't care less. Suddenly, as abrupt as a switch turning on, she once again surveyed the wreckage that she assumed was from power grid combustion. Now she truly saw it for what it was. With this she was already half way through her investigation to figure out what happened here.

It was a battlefield.

It was obvious Spider-Man had been involved due to the abundance of whatever he used as "webbing", but the questions were these: who was he fighting in a power plant and what did Gwen Stacy have to do with any of this?

Natasha glanced around once more, hoping to uncover more secrets now that she was asking the right questions. Gwen was a worker at Oscorp, therefore she might have been here to help with the repair… but an electrical major would have to be here, Gwen was just out of high school. What Natasha needed to know what who designed this power grid, because they were ones most likely here to help with the repair at the time.

But, why was _Spider-Man_ here? That means there must have been some sort of threat to civilians. Loki was here with his chitauri army, but that was hours before. Just what sort of threat was here _after_ all that? Did Loki leave something behind? Was it something completely new? If so, why that night of all nights?

Calmly, Natasha slipped into her state of mind that allowed her to think like a criminal. She didn't know how much it would help in this case, but she supposed it was worth a shot.

The city would have been recuperating from the earlier invasion. Police force would be spread thin and small crimes would go unnoticed in all the wreckage. Power was off and one due to certain damages, no one really noticed amongst the chaos. Hours later if the grid were to be shut off, it would be seen as an after effect taking its toll on the straining power supply. The power shutting off would disable any camera footage in places, allowing for easy break-ins and stealing. Perfect crime time.

Natasha assumed that someone came here to disable the grid to shop-lift or commit any other crimes. It must have been more than a no-name criminal if Spider-Man came here to confront them. It had to be someone important, along with someone who knew the grid.

Gwen Stacy? No, she wasn't skilled enough to do any of those things, along with the fact that she was killed. Spider-Man never killed, of that Natasha was sure. Perhaps, taken as a hostage? Why? What leverage would this person need if they only intended to disable the power-plant completely and conspicuously?

Unless, Gwen Stacy arrived with Spider-Man. That would make sense. Although, that would mean she knew the identity of Spider-Man, possibly even an important person to him. That just raises the question: why would Spider-Man bring her?

Natasha was rarely puzzled, but all the possibilities she came up with seemed illogical.

This _villain_ must have had another purpose, or perhaps there was more than one. Whomever it was had to know about the Oscorp Power system, as well as be able to battle Spider-Man on par. Was it another mutant? Was it _Loki_? No that's preposterous, he was sent back to Asgard while Natasha watched, and even if he had somehow escaped back to Earth what was the _motive_? There were no people here to kill and destroying the power system would be no more than an inconvenience. More so, Loki always wanted a show – he would have never attempted any of this with stealth on his mind.

Natasha considered the idea of it being a new foe. It was possible but unlikely, especially if there were more than one. She searched her memory. Was there _anything_ that could give her hints – that's when she remembered the small phenomenon in Times Square that occurred while God of Mischief first appeared on Earth and stole the Tesseract. There had been a being (perhaps a mutant) whom seemed able to control electricity. Spider-Man had fought him and saved countless lives, disabling the being with water before Ravencroft took him in.

Ravencroft. The name was fowl on Natasha's tongue. She knew how they tortured those who were there.

If this electrical being escaped Ravencroft, they would most likely head for electrical power, which at the time the biggest source in the city had been where she was standing. That was it, _that_ was who Spider-Man was fighting.

But still the question lingered. Why was Gwen Stacy involved in all of this?

Her Oscorp employment seemed the most likely factor, although unless Natasha found a way to recreate the events that happened she would never figure it out. The only verified people she had as witnesses were dead or a certain vigilante, and it didn't make her life any easier. However, slowly a thought crept up to the back of her head like the spider she was looking for.

Fury had sent her to figure this out for one ultimate goal – Spider-Man. Natasha didn't know whether it involved threat containment to something as extreme as Avengers recruitment, but that much seemed obvious. The only next step she could take, the only plausible way to get answers, the very reason that she was _here _was so stupidly obvious it was genius.

Natasha had to track down Spider-Man's real identity.


	4. Awkward Situations

**I'm on time! :D I can honestly say this chapter was a blast to write, even if it was a pain to edit. I'm trying to get characterization for the most part IC, so any suggestions are appreciated. I was also wondering if anyone had an idea or link to a picture for this story. I might end up drawing or editing one, but - again - suggestions are always welcome!**

**IMPORTANT:  
>Let me know in your reviews whether or not you guys want:<br>a) A complex more serious plot where the chapters are usually fragments of different perspectives (what I'm currently doing)  
><em>or<em>  
>b) A simple and more comedic plot with more cliche instances and chapters that <em>do<em> directly follow eachother (what I'm not currently doing)**

_Reviews:  
>Person:<em> Due to the plot I'm trying to make work, a lot of the chapters won't directly relate to eachother. That being said, the focus of this story is primarily Percy Jackson's encounter with the Marvel Universe even if it does have side plots.  
><em>Guest:<em> Thanks, your review helped me believe the previous chapter was not a _total_ trainwreck in my opinion. ;)  
><em>Winterlover6:<em> Ever so kind, here's your update.  
><em>Starkiller99:<em> Here's your "More". :P

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter Four: Awkward Situations<strong>

_November 19__th__, 2012  
>8:56am<br>Earth_

Percy woke up that morning with a headache that was definitely not from a hangover.

Although surprisingly, since he woke up to the delicious smell of breakfast, whatever was bugging his mind was immediately forgotten. Groaning as he hauled himself from his rather comforter-tangled position on his bed, he allowed a smile to adorn his face with the thought of seeing his mom.

He loved when she showed up out of the blue some Saturday mornings and made him breakfast. It reminded him of when he was a kid, obsessed over proving to his gods-awful stepdad Gabe that blue food _exists_ and henceforth ate hordes of it whenever it was present.

Plus, his mom's blue pancakes _were the best_.

Therefore, when he shuffled out of his room and into the living space of his small apartment, you can say he was a bit more than shocked to see a woman that _wasn't_ his mother preparing breakfast. Furthermore, said woman was the weird girl from last night and _why was she here_?

The events of the previous night rushed back to him, and he could safely say all that happened is Darcy drove him home after the mix-up that consisted of their awkward encounter. Speaking of awkward, the noise Percy made from shutting his bedroom door had caught her attention.

Turning around with a plate of bacon in her hands, Percy guessed Darcy was not expecting to see him with _only _sweat pants. However, he didn't expect her to drop the _glass_ plate and waste the perfectly good breakfast food _just_ because he was shirtless.

The knife-like shards scattered throughout the general vicinity, and immediately they both dropped to the floor to clean up the mess. Darcy's cheeks were tinted pink, and she was stammering uncontrollably.

"Uh, so sorry about that, I mean, I didn't–" She rambled in her own defense.

Percy laughed softly, "It's just a plate and some still-edible bacon," he said while he quickly plucked a piece off the ground and into his mouth. After he finished chewing it, (it was more like one chew followed by a swallow) Percy asked the question that seemed most obvious for this occasion.

"What are you _still_ doing here?"

She looked at him blankly for a second, before her smug grin returned and what he guessed was going to be another wild explanation of who she thought he was. He supposed he should really clear that up, but Percy honestly didn't expect to see the girl again since they parted ways the night before.

"I figured that if you're the person who is assigned to "watch over me" for whatever reasons you guys have, I thought would make your job easier by just staying here the night. After all," her eyes wandered away from his own in a sheepish way, "It was four in the morning and I was really tired and I hope you don't mind – I, I slept on the couch," Her smug grinned had disappeared only to be replaced with a look of uncertainty.

Percy grinned, just because he thought the look on her face was priceless. He was still sure of hell confused about everything she might have been talking about – don't get him wrong – although, for the moment he thought he could play this charade a little longer….

"Yeah right, don't worry about it. You should have told me you wanted to stay over, I would have given you my bed," Percy winked just for the fun of it, and almost burst out laughing when Darcy's cheeks became an even darker shade of pink. To be honest, Percy didn't know why he was in such a good mood, in fact, for the past four-ish years all he's done is mope around without a purpose in life anymore. He had forgotten how nice it was to actually talk to someone besides his mom, (as lame as that sounded), and just for the moment he wanted to enjoy it.

Darcy seemed at a loss for words for once and just keep silently picking up the last of the glass. Once it was all done, she stood up and threw out the shards and bacon alike, much to Percy's dismay. As far as he was concerned that bacon was perfectly fine, and he should have been allowed to indulge himself in some home-cooking for once. After a chunk of very awkward silence, Darcy finally seemed to find her voice.

"Look, I'm sorry about breakfast and everything, I guess I'll just leave, I mean, I might see you later considering… anyway… yeah bye," She stammered without meeting Percy's eyes, probably due to the fact that he was still shirtless, and proceeded to gather her keys and her stray fuchsia beanie.

Percy was now very aware that everything should be sorted out right now, because with his luck it would all come back to bite him later. Just when he decided he was going to figure out a way to explain everything without revealing he was a demi-god, his front door slammed and he was left standing alone in what was now a very empty apartment.

It was now that Percy also realized he had to walk over to the not-so-close bar if he wanted to see his motorcycle again.

•**ψ•Ω•ψ•**

Darcy was one of those people who learned to cope with everything as it was happening. She supposed it was a trait she got from studying political science. When they had first found the forsaken Thor, she coped, and that just happened to end up with her tasering him. All in all, Darcy reacted to things in ways she saw fit and if someone had a problem with that, she wouldn't back down.

However, meeting _Percy_ had been something odd – that was for sure – but she hadn't thought it was something she _couldn't _cope with. She'd met plenty of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents before, and she honestly wasn't surprised they had one tailing her. It probably had to do with her affiliation to Jane Foster, and how said scientist just ended up being the _God of Thunder_'s "fling". (Yes, she called it a fling because the guy hasn't visited in _years._)

So, all in all, Darcy thought she was prepared for anything, even when she, Jane and Eric all moved to Manhattan after the crisis that was the "Avengers". She wasn't even going to get _started_ on how _pissed_ Jane had been to find out Thor had been in New York, but _left_ before she could get here.

That's how Darcy ended up with the crappy night-shift part-time job at one of the less popular bars in the area. Of course, Jane and Eric got to stay in the Stark Tower and work on science things for S.H.I.E.L.D. but they hadn't room for good old Darcy. That's also how she ended up in a dingy little apartment in the same district as her crappy bar job.

Life sucked sometimes. But, just when things had been so absolutely _boring_, she'd met the very definition of interesting.

Of course, in the short month that she'd been working at the bar she'd seen the guy drown himself in glasses of vodka (_glasses!_) while she discreetly watched him out of the corner of her eye. He didn't show up too often, but when he did, he stayed for hours and usually on Friday nights. She didn't know why he seemed to draw her attention every time he showed up and offhandedly Darcy assumed it was his eyes. She had never seen eyes _that _bright and _that_ green. In fact, she would bet one week's pay that they would reflect light in the dark. Furthermore, she always wondered why such an _attractive_ guy would be doing drinking alone on a Friday night, so she had started conversations with him when he should have been off-the-rocker drunk. Those times hadn't gone too well, as he always seemed way too coherent, and in the end all she ended up with was tight-lipped few word answers. That was all fine, until last night, when he had the extra _two_ glasses of vodka and she really didn't know how he was awake, she decided that she just couldn't let him _drive_ his way to his deathbed.

That's right – she could be a good person.

That was also when shit hit the fan.

Darcy thought she would have been prepared for _anything_ since Thor popped out of nowhere and hit their truck, or since the giant robot thing attacked their little town in New Mexico, or since the catastrophe she'd heard about in New York involving aliens and Thor's _brother_ Loki.

Obviously, she wasn't prepared to see the only other person in the bar turn into some scaled monster _and_ see the drunk-as-hell good-looking guy pull a _sword_ out of nowhere. Not only that, the guy managed to dispatch the _thing_ in a couple well-timed movements and within a minute _whatever-it-was_ disappeared into a cloud of gold, leaving her very, very confused with a potentially-threatening sword-wielding stranger.

She'd just wished she'd brought her taser.

Turns out, the guy's name was Percy and he was actually a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. (He never actually said so but she could tell.) That's how she ended up trusting him, and _still_ argued to drive him home because even S.H.I.E.L.D. agents got drunk – right? (It didn't matter that he just totally annihilated _something_, she _wasn't _going to let him _drive_ anywhere.)

It was also four in the morning, so when she dropped him off at an apartment complex that was nicer than hers, and made sure he got to his apartment okay – even if he insisted he was fine – she decided _what the hell_ and plopped down on the couch. It was a very spur of the moment thing, but she _was_ a very spur of the moment girl.

She had woken up only a few hours later to the ungodly hour of eight in the morning to a very peculiar situation.

She was not in her own apartment and she _really_ had to pee. Long story short, she had found the washroom, not before stumbling into an oddly placed end-table (in actuality it wasn't all that odd) which Darcy would have _insisted_ hadn't been there moments before, when the _clunk_ of something falling caught her attention. Upon hurriedly inspecting the floor to ensure she hadn't broken anything – _that would have not gone well _– she noticed a picture frame on the table had only fallen over. Slightly scared to upright it for the chance it might have shattered, Darcy closed her eyes as she restored its original position. Peeking through one of her closed eyes, she noticed that in fact it _wasn't _broken – _thank God _– but instead, was actually a very heart-warming photograph. It must have been taken years ago, due to the fact that the boy whom she assumed was Percy couldn't be older than sixteen or seventeen. It made her heart clench to see such a happy face on a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, even more so to notice he was holding hands with a very pretty girl. The girl who was most likely around the same age of Percy in the picture had curly blond hair and striking grey eyes. Darcy assumed the girl was not accustomed to photos, due to the fact that her smile seemed somewhat awkward. She chuckled at the thought and with a start – scared she would have been caught prying – proceeded to search the nearest door for said washroom.

Within a few minutes later, (after finding the washroom) Darcy decided she would make breakfast because she was hungry, and she supposed that "her" S.H.I.E.L.D. agent wouldn't mind her lingering presence considering he _was_ supposed to watch over her anyway. When she had first scavenged for pots and pans and any other cooking necessities, she had noted the lack of well – _everything_ – in his apartment. Apart from a stray bottle or two of vodka (surprise, surprise) and a fruit situated here and there she hadn't found anything worth making breakfast of.

When she had finally looked in the freezer she found a frozen pack of bacon, and her cooking commenced. Darcy wasn't going to lie, she didn't cook often and she didn't think she cooked too well. At least it was bacon which basically involved plopping it in a pan, flipping it over a few times and take it off before it burned. By ten to nine she had a nice plate of delicious bacon if she did say so herself (which she did) when it just so happened to take a dive to the floor.

In reality, she hadn't possibly considered she would be startled by Percy, seeing as she had seen him pull a sword out of nowhere, but once again she couldn't have been more wrong. When the click of a door signified she had company, she was ready to plow into her story for still being there and making breakfast – she _hadn't_ expected him to be shirtless.

Don't get Darcy wrong, she has seen plenty of guys shirtless before. One of the more memorable instances involved the time with Thor, whom had possibly been the most cut guy she'd ever seen. So, it wasn't a fact of naivety or even surprise, as she had known Percy was there before she turned around.

That wasn't to say Percy wasn't ripped, because _he was_, but Darcy was certain that single factor alone wouldn't have been enough of a shock to make her drop the delicious plate of bacon. Especially when it involved a delicious plate of bacon.

It was the _scars_.

Even Thor didn't have scars like that, especially the gash that seemed to run from Percy's left shoulder to his right hip, standing out like a gash on a painting. There were smaller ones as well, ones that blended into the contours of his skin, but nothing compared to the terror Darcy felt towards _experiencing_ something that left _that_ particular scar.

With a quiver of her hands, the plate was let loose and the resounding shattering of glass is what finally brought her eyes away from what she assumed was a battle scar. There was no other way that could have happened, unless he'd been tortured – _oh God_, Darcy was panicking now, she couldn't imagine going through anything like that.

As she dropped herself to the floor to avert her gaze to the shards of glass, she realized with a start that this was the first time she _couldn't _cope with something. For some reason that scar had horrified her, petrified her into feeling such a sense of _fear_ that she wanted to curl up into a ball and hide herself from the world. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her hands and was able to start properly cleaning up the mess she made.

She hadn't realized she'd been stuttering an incomprehensible explanation until Percy's voice suddenly rang out like honey to her ears, almost incomprehensible with the sense of calm it brought.

"It's just a plate and some still-edible bacon," he had said, and Darcy managed to look up in time to catch him eating a piece of the floor-sullied bacon like nothing was wrong with it. Oddly, she wasn't disgusted, but grateful at what seemed like a simple act of reassurance. It hadn't lasted long, and soon enough he asked the obvious question.

Darcy had proceeded to ramble about S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the time and before she knew it she mentioned how she slept on the couch. That wouldn't have bothered her, until she suddenly remembered the picture she had saw and was enticingly aware she might have intruded on something private. Her expression must have been somewhat akin to unsureness, considering he grinned and mentioned something about allowing her to sleep in his bed. She blushed at the thought, wondering if Percy was flirting when all of a sudden he started laughing, and if Darcy wasn't so distraught at the moment she might thought it the most joyful laugh she'd ever heard.

When she had finished picking up the remaining bacon and glass, she threw it out as fast as she could before mumbling some incoherent sort of goodbye and proceeded to leave the apartment. She didn't start breathing properly again until she was back in the safety of her car.

That's when the _absurdness_ of the past few hours hit Darcy like a ton of bricks.

She had seen some sort of monster slayed by an undercover drunk S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, proceeded to drive said agent home, slept at said agent's apartment, made said agent breakfast before having a nervous breakdown because she saw said agent's scars. Plus there was the fact that even if she didn't want to admit it, she might be mildly infatuated with said agent but that might just be the political science talking. (Because obviously political science had to do with the colour of his eyes and the totally badass sword-skills.)

If that wasn't an eventful morning Darcy didn't know what was.


	5. As Luck Would Have It

***Hides from angry followers, favouriters and reviewers* I'm updating late again, and I know sorry doesn't cut it. This was supposed to up Monday. It's Friday. Anyway, part of the reason for the delay is that I'm re-working the plot again. I have so many ideas and no way to fit them all, not to mention all the characters I want to introduce... this fic is going to be looooong.  
>As for the plot question I asked you guys, I was thinking of trying to do both. So lets see how that works out.<strong>

**UPDATING: The next few weeks will be sporadic, although I'm still aiming for Mondays. (As you can tell Mondays easily turn into Fridays) You guys can thank exams. In fact I have a test in a couple hours which I _should_ be studying for but...**

**Reviews:  
><strong>_Guest_: Thanks for your input! I appreciate it and I totally understand losing interest due to multiple plot lines. I will be putting a pole on my profile with the option for Percy/Darcy.  
><em>Person<em>: Ok to you to!  
><em>ThatOneWeirdGuy<em>: TMI, but thanks for the review!  
><em>wISeGirL183<em>: Right now it seems tough to incorporate much spidey in the plot, but I'm trying! About spelling/grammar I try my best, but no one's perfect.  
><em>LittleManY2K<em>: Thanks!  
><em>Smiley83832<em>: Thanks so much!  
><em>Guest<em>: Thanks!  
><em>the open minded<em>: :P  
><em>AsDarknessSpreads<em>: Lol, Fairy Tail feels. I know, I was trying to show how certain scenarios in his life have changed him, but he can still be the same old Percy.  
><em>yetanothersilentreader<em>: I don't plan on abandoning it! :)  
><em>chaos007<em>: I totally understand, I feel like I'm cramming him too. Hopefully I can fix that, although I am striving for more Percy-oriented.  
><em>Winterlover6<em>: Thanks!  
><em>Guest<em>: That's what I'm going to try to do now. Thanks for the input.  
><em>The Twelve Olympians<em>: I'll put a poll on my profile. I would go with Parcy if I had to, otherwise I'd use Percy/Darcy if need be.  
><em>llamaprincess13<em>: Thanks so much!  
><em>Demon Hunter of artemis<em>: Here you go.  
><em>Potterthedemigod<em>: There will be a pole on my profile.  
><em>Sparky199<em>: Check out the pole on my profile.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter Five: As Luck Would Have It<strong>

_November 19__th__, 2012  
>11:35am<br>Earth_

Jane Foster was a very busy person.

At the moment, her partner on her current S.H.I.E.L.D. "assignment" – Eric Selvig – was planning more designs on already pre-designed equipment, while she was trying to sort out some newer designs for new equipment that _wasn't _powered by the Tesseract.

Did Jane forget to mention that S.H.I.E.L.D. had hired them as additional scientists? Honestly, the only reason she had accepted the offer was for a single undoubtedly stupid reason – Thor.

Her hunk of a boyfriend hadn't visited in _forever_, and when he finally happened to be on the same _planet_ he couldn't even drop in for a minute to say _hi_. She was so upset that she kind of wasn't upset anymore, just because he _was_ off saving the world…

Ever since she took the job to find a new power source for the supposed weapons of mass-destruction S.H.I.E.L.D. planned to make, Jane had _strongly _disagreed with many different people on ten different levels. There was no way she was going to be a part of something that could cause so much _potential _harm. Upon hearing this, Fury had spoken to her personally, telling her that she could design new _defense_ mechanisms, as long as they had good offence as well. She hadn't been as opposed to that idea, considering it was meant to protect rather than destroy_._ Although, if it were up to her she would have scraped all the designs without a second thought, not to mention all the other global problems S.H.I.E.L.D. could be solving _instead _of creating.

That's why for the past few months she's been working non-stop trying to restore S.H.I.E.L.D. tech to the way it was before the disaster of New York, where she _still_ couldn't believe she _hadn't _seen _Thor_.

Therefore, with the stress of all this work, the lack of a hyperactive intern and Eric's constant rambling, she was practically _giddy_ when Darcy had texted at around 9:30 this morning, telling her that they was going out for lunch – no _buts_.

No, Jane was not sarcastic. She was genuinely excited to get out of a workplace.

Darcy was an excuse to take what Jane thought was a well-deserved break, and honestly she just missed talking to her friend as much as they used to in New Mexico. Half the time now Jane couldn't talk about S.H.I.E.L.D. at all to her, due to some confidentiality bullshit. In Jane's mind a few months ago, New York had seemed like a must in order to see Thor. Now, it was like that hangover after a night partying – you were tired, annoyed and wanted nothing less than to go back in time and change that awful decision for the extra beer. Except this time, it involved moving to New York.

Big difference.

That's also why she started to log off and clean up everything she was working on a _bit_ earlier than her allotted lunch break and practically begged Eric to cover for her. She was not going to lose this ridiculously over-paying job, especially when it involved a chance to see Thor _often_. Even if it did sometimes involve weapons of mass destruction and as many super villains as heroes… not to mention the not-so uncommon tendency to get killed on the job.

However, that wasn't on Jane's mind at the moment. The thing that was, on the other hand, was the fact that Darcy had sounded way too eccentric even for herself to talk "as soon as possible". Jane had been happy to comply, if she had a reason to go on beforehand. As if it wasn't obvious, Darcy refused most likely because she was _Darcy_ more than actually having a reason in itself, but nonetheless she somehow managed to give Jane the push that now had her buttoning up her trench coat in the surprisingly frigid New York air.

Jane was grateful for her rather heelless boots due to the fact that the diner Darcy suggested was too close for a cab but just far enough to make her sick of the outdoors in the near-winter weather. For a moment, not unlike the many other previous times, Jane had to cease her walking for a second just to stare at the building she just walked out of.

The Stark Tower was an amazing building even before the Battle of New York, (which Jane knew because of the before pictures) but even she could tell it was even more magnificent now. She rarely saw the billionaire around the crazy building he had been kind enough to practically give S.H.I.E.L.D. in the aftermath, and had no doubt in her mind he had done so with alternative motives in mind. In fact, Jane was willing to bet Tony was using Jarvis to hack every piece of intelligence he could access.

She didn't blame him, if she had the resources she would have been doing the same thing, albeit probably for different reasons.

With her thoughts still wandering the happenings of said Avenger, she started her trek towards the diner she was supposed meet Darcy at in around ten minutes. Jane was less than a block away when suddenly a reason for her to be late for lunch made itself known. She just didn't expect it to involve something _appearing _out of nowhere.

It's kind of funny that Jane automatically assumed anything "appearing" would be Thor, when in actuality it was in fact a flying car.

A _flying_ car.

Okay, it wasn't really flying and it didn't "appear". It was somehow propelled through the air _towards her_ by an external force, and Jane was almost incredulously _disappointed_ that after everything she lived through she would be killed by a projectile in the form of a car.

It would have killed her too (due to the fact that she spent her escape time _thinking_) if it weren't for the stranger that tackled her to the ground. They both went sprawling across the pavement until they had effectively missed the car by inches.

If it were any other situation Jane would have probably cursed a few inappropriate words, but just this once Jane felt grateful someone had the courage to save others in the face of danger. Especially when the danger was a direct factor to her own demise.

Said car proceeded to crash across the street into a classic yellow cab, sending both vehicles barelling into the front windows of a store. There wasn't a resulting explosion (like everyone expected in the movies), but Jane felt the screams of the people around her was alarm enough. It was also these screams that made Jane realised she had shut her eyes when the cars crashed, only to open them to see the bright green eyes of the figure that had saved her. He was also shielding her from debris that had cascaded outwards from the crash.

He proceeded to right himself as well as run a hand through his black hair, shaking out little pieces of pavement that rested there, a reassuring smile upon his face as if to communicate that they were _not_ dead. Jane was too distracted by the _thing_ behind him to even attempt to grab his hand when he offered it. In fact she was shocked she couldn't even appreciate the full-extent of the gesture this person had committed to save someone they didn't even know.

The male in front of her managed to understand her disbelief for what it was, rather than a dismissal, as he retracted his hand only to reach for something is his pocket.

Jane continued to gape at the massive creature bounding on all fours towards them, its coat of black fur reminding her of a dog. An overly-large _dangerous_ red-eyed dog. In reality, she would have probably been paralyzed like that if it weren't for the sudden gleaming object that (_also_) appeared in the hand of the male.

Of all things, a _sword_ was what snapped Jane's attention back into focus as she scrambled away, eyes lit with new fear. The man glanced at her and back towards the object in his hand, curious understanding lighting his features as he sighed in what seemed like exasperation.

He turned away from her defenseless form without a second thought, adjusting his stance and grip on the one-handed sword to face the oncoming threat. Jane almost raised an eyebrow at the act of suicidal behaviour he displayed (even if he did have a sword) until she saw him _use _it.

As the red-eyed beast was mere feet away, her saviour shifted his body as he guided the sword across the creature's front legs. The edge of the weapon pierced through what Jane guessed was flesh and bone as if it were water, the severed limbs disappearing into golden dust as the monster fumbled against collapsing.

Almost as if she were watching a stage show rather than real life, the male spun and buried the sword into one of the beast's glowing red eyes, using its forward momentum against it as it embedded the weapon hilt deep. The dog-like creature roared in pain, its massive body thrashing violently in attempts to rid the sword.

The man, without releasing his grip on the sword, jumped atop the beast's back, pushing the sword downwards as he did so. The hound's head slammed into the pavement, a crater of cracks erupting from the force. The male proceeded to pull his blade from the creature's face, causing the hound to jerk violently as he crouched upon its back, and with a swift movement he brought his sword in an arc across the beast's neck. The sword cleanly severed its head as the body exploded into a shower of more dust, leaving the man standing covered in what seemed like a layer of sparkling sand.

Jane was still seated at the edge of the road as she hadn't dared move during the entire ordeal. People were all staring at the man in front of her, in fact a police officer had unholstered his gun and pointed it towards her saviour.

She looked at the officer in disbelief as he declared, "Drop the gun!" to the male who was _clearly _holding a sword and _not_ a gun. The man however, didn't seem surprised in the slightest, and actually caught her eye in the midst of this ordeal. She knew that by the way he looked at her that somehow she was not reacting this situation correctly.

It was also that very second the police officer pulled the safety of his gun, in what seemed like preparation to fire as the sword-wielding man didn't drop his "gun". With practical inhuman speed said male bounded towards the officer, disarming him with a few quick movements until he held a sword and a gun.

He looked at the weapon in slight disgust as he pulled the clip of bullets out of the gun – emptying it – and dropped the gun as whole onto the ground before crashing a metal-platted boot onto it.

The officer was cradling an injured hand in disbelief as he watched the man walk away. Jane was dumbfounded when the man's sword seemed to vanish into thin air as he pocketed something. Furthermore, instead immediately fleeing the scene as one would expect – he advanced once more towards Jane and offered her a hand as if to apologize for saving her life as well as helping her up.

Without hesitation, Jane accepted the help and once she was once again sure-footed he turned around and began walking down the street as if nothing happened. She practically gaped at the casualness of his behaviour.

_Who was this guy?_

Jane had two decisions to decide from in this split second. She could casually continue to lunch as if nothing happened, or pursue answers from this person. Her answer was obvious. She would have to apologize to Darcy another time.

She steeled a look at everyone around her, and for the most part people seemed to just not care anymore. The police officer looked slightly disoriented, as if he had just forgotten what had happened. In fact, everyone looking towards the man seemed dazed and confused before snapping themselves out of it and proceeding to do whatever they were doing prior to this calamity.

Jane, now incredibly curious for answers, did not waste time catching up to the male whom was still walking casually down the street. When she caught up to him, she was incredibly surprised to hear him speak first.

"What's the chance of encountering _two_ clear-sighted in _two _days? Honestly," He stopped walking so abruptly that Jane had to spin-around to look at him, "It would be best if you simply forgot this every happened. Everyone else has," he said casually as he pointed a thumb behind him to the dazed people.

Jane, practically thunderstruck at the statement was at an almost loss for words. Instead she managed to choke out a, "What?" As if that conveyed her frustration about everything he just said.

Apparently it did, as the male resumed walking as he ran a hand through his hair, most likely to clear the golden substance that the _thing_ had dissipated into.

"Ok, I know you're going to have questions like what was that dog-thing – a hellhound if you must know – and why I had a sword – that one's not so easy to answer – and the obvious who they hell am I. Did I get it all?" He said calmly as they continued to walk wherever this man was headed.

Jane had way more questions than that, but she supposed that covered the main ones. Not to mention the fact where he said the beast that attacked was a hellhound, and she didn't even know what that was – wait. She had heard of hellhounds, albeit not from any notable sources. She had read the name in a mythology book when they had been researching Thor.

Was this guy from Asgard? Did Thor send him to protect her? Jane knew she was getting ahead of herself but right now, as strange as it sounded, it seemed like the only logical answer. Not to mention the fact that when she looked at him, _really_ looked at him, he seemed battle-worn in a way that she had only seen from the other Asgardians that had helped out in New Mexico. Not to mention the fact he knew how to wield a _sword_ which hadn't been a practical combat weapon for centuries on Earth.

She also didn't know if she should outright ask him, but her curiosity overruled her doubt.

"Are you from Asgard?"

He had been looking ahead as he was walking, but apparently the question caught his attention enough to make him shift his gaze downwards to meet her eyes, probably to figure out if she was being serious.

"What, like that Thor guy with the hammer? Sure, let's go with that," he sounded confused at his own response, but confidence replaced it so quickly that Jane felt confuddled to the point where she didn't know whether or not to believe him.

The walked for a few more silence filled seconds, before the man started to seem genuinely confused at why she was still accompanying him.

"So, um, what are you still doing here? You looked like you had someplace to go, er, before almost dying by flying car." The statement was said with a quite bit of humour towards the end and suddenly Jane realised he _couldn't_ be from Asgard for one simple reason.

He didn't talk like he was from the medieval times.

"Who are you? _What_ are you, if that's more appropriate?" She said as she regained her composure, determined to figure out what other kind of person (alien?) out there would be wielding a sword in the streets of New York to kill a hellhound.

That's how Jane realised her life was messed up. She considered multiple _plausible_ reasons for there to be a man wielding a sword in the streets of New York in order to kill hellhounds.

The male looked at her dumbly for a second, as if genuinely contemplating the question. She just didn't know whether he was contemplating a plausible lie or an honest truth that involved a _what_.

"I'm a 'who', for your information. Although sometimes the line does blur, but forget I said that. If you're as inclined to my identity-" He stopped mid-sentence as they reached the apparent destination.

Jane didn't understand why he would go to a bar in the middle of the day, until she noticed the lone black motorcycle in the parking lot. He hurried his pace towards it, snatching the keys from his pocket.

That's when she realised that this was the last time she was going to question this man. Quickly Jane rushed once more towards him, determined to learn anything more.

Just as he was prepared to drive away, he noticed Jane's ever-still-lingering presence. He sighed almost in-audibly as she was about to ask another question and started the engine.

"Look, um, there was this barmaid on shift last night – actually this morning – at this bar. Ask her, she seemed to have a plausible explanation." He yelled over the noise as Jane was left in the dust as the bike roared to life out of the parking lot.

Thunderstruck as she was, she glanced the sign on top of the bar with a start. This very bar was the bar Darcy worked at. In fact, Jane was almost certain her former intern worked the late night/early morning shift.

Darcy somehow knew who this man was.

_Darcy_ of all people.

Numbly Jane reached for her phone and called her best friend.

"I'm running a bit late. I'll be right there."


	6. Of Commonalities

**I'm SORRY! Life and school got in the way of posting :( but at least I warned you guys... kinda. I have a few important things to say so listen up:  
>- UPDATING WILL NOW OCCUR ONCE EVERY TWO WEEKS. This way it's easier for me to stay to schedule.<br>- THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER THAT I'M ANSWERING EVER SINGLE REVIEW DUE TO RESPONSE. I appreciate every single word written and I hope you guys know it means a ton! Just from now on I will only answer you if you direct a statement and or question to me due to volume.  
>- CHECK OUT THE POLL ON MY PROFILE! It's important to the plot!<br>- As you guys already know from the description, this story is based of coincidences. This means the plot is basically built from scratch and to make it realistic-ish is difficult. As such, this fic may seem random but there IS an overall plot. **

**_Reviews_**:  
><em>Sparky199<em>: Well here's what's happening...  
><em>Guest<em>: Thanks for the input!  
><em>yetanothersilentreader<em>: Are you the guest above? If so thanks for reviewing twice!  
><em>Winterlover6<em>: I don't either honestly... I just write...  
><em>Guest<em>: Thanks so much!  
><em>Guest<em>: Am I? I never really thought so :P Thanks!  
><em>chaos007<em>: Thanks and curiously when I first wrote it that's what came to my mind too! (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. is awesome, just finished season one)  
><em>llamaprincess13<em>: Thanks so much! :D  
><em>the typewrited<em>: Don't worry everything is gonna to collapse together eventually... and I MEAN EVENTUALLY  
><span>_Guest_: Thanks :) I will try  
><em>AsDarknessSpreads<em>: Well it was a dramatic moment... :P  
><em>Karinamoreno2000<em>: Thanks! I know its been a while since the last update and I'm sorry.  
><em>LittleManY2K<em>: Thanks :D  
><em>Guest<em>: Oh no! I hope you haven't perished yet! Or else you won't get to read this update! :P  
><em>Thiltelles<em>: Thanks! Don't worry I'm a sucker for badass Percy... ;)  
><em>aviendhaphiragon<em>: Oh my indeed! A review! :P  
><em>rockstar01121<em>: Yep, sorry about the communication. I believe I specified Jane was aware of the hours Darcy worked and therefore came to the conclusion of Darcy being the person Percy was referencing.  
><em>forever-a-fanchic<em>: And I LOVE your penname! xD  
><em>rocky<em>: Interesting! Perhaps that would work in a different scenario but Percy is not a teenager in this fic. I like your idea though and maybe I can incorporate that train of thought somewhere.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter Six – Of Commonalities <strong>

_November 19__th__, 2012  
>12:12pm<br>Earth_

Steve Rogers was enjoying the late autumn weather.

To the common passerby on the street, he may seem somewhat odd considering that he was sitting in an outdoor café with the brisk wind being as it were. The waitress, however, was as pleasant as usual and for once he was not the only one enjoying what some might consider cold weather.

Somewhat hypocritically, Steve had thought it was strange for another person to seat themselves outdoors alongside him, but he hadn't an argument against it. This was New York, where he learned weird people were abundant and that he himself had no place to judge them and their lifestyle.

Steve also admired the stranger's motorcycle.

It may have also been considered unusual that he would be so upfront about talking to someone about something so mundane in a life like his, but he enjoyed the simplicity such topics brought him. Therefore, just this once, he threw caution to the wind and started conversing with a stranger. He supposed this meant his people skills were improving after seventy long ice-ridden years.

"Nice bike," Steve stated in a somewhat awkward manor, unsure if the dismounting male had heard him at all. The figure turned towards him with a start, as if expecting some sort of attack and Steve couldn't help but relate. Smiling when the stranger finally identified his presence, he gestured for the man to sit alongside him for what he hoped would be an interesting conversation.

Steve couldn't help but notice the way the male fiddled with his helmet as he took it off, in what may have been anxiety as he glanced towards him questioningly. Steve assumed this stranger was as unskilled at social interaction as he was or was expecting something that perhaps Steve didn't want to contemplate. Finally the man placed his helmet with care atop his motorcycle and decided to walk over.

The stranger eyed him skeptically as he joined Steve at the table. Something immediately made him feel incredibly uneasy. Steve didn't know whether it was the way the stranger's eyes seemed to challenge his own or if it was the way he held his posture. Whatever it was, it was making for a very odd situation and Steve was already starting to regret his choice of attempted friendliness in a city like Manhattan.

It wasn't until the man finally seemed to relax slightly in his presence that Steve understood the body language that he had originally mistaken for some sort of contempt. In honesty he was almost positive it was in fact the opposite – a way of caution.

_This man carries himself like a warrior. _

Immediately Steve started to sympathize with the man, knowing too well of the cruelties of battle and the scars it left on one's mind. He was also curious as if he should inquire to such a topic of conversation, although since he was feeling uncertain he went for his initial reason for addressing the man.

"What year is it – the motorcycle?" Steve asked in a gauche mid-sentence reconstruction of the question.

The black-haired male sitting across from him looked almost surprised at the common aspect of the conversation before replying, "_Captain America_ is talking to me about my bike," he paused as he raised an eyebrow in disbelief, "_Wow_, okay – it's a 2010 Nightster, saved up for it since I was seventeen."

Steve didn't know why he didn't expect it. He supposed he should have assumed part of the male's reluctance to sit with him might have been because he was a _superhero_ from the forties. Even so, Steve was still incredibly curious as to what would cause a twenty-something year old to beware the world as if death were lurking in his own shadow, despite the carefree manner he attempted to mask it with.

"Excuse my manners, Steve Rogers," said Captain introduced himself as he raised his palm in a welcoming gesture.

The man sitting across from his sustained a grin before introducing himself in equal formality, his eyes betraying the authenticity of a once trouble-free nature, "Percy Jackson."

Steve knew he shouldn't attempt to pry people open after only just meeting them, but his instincts were telling him that something was different about Percy, something more than his battle-worn physique. He wasn't criticizing him, Steve knew only men with honour could show that much genuine honesty in a circumstantial greeting, not to mention the fact that only men who've seen war could carry themselves the way Percy did.

Curiousity was usually not Steve's predominant factor for displaying any interest of information, but Steve couldn't help it this time. He wanted to know more of this man, even if only the slightest details of battles he may have missed. A keen eye showed him that Percy was still experiencing the trauma from combat, the way his fingers twitched in expectation, the ways his eyes surveyed his surroundings and how Steve could tell Percy was ready to spring from his seat at any moment if the situation required it.

"I hope I'm not imposing, but its nice meeting someone with good taste in transportation. Have a drink," Steve said it what may have sounded like slightly forced enthusiasm.

With a hesitant look, Percy nodded in response as if still trying to comprehend that he was about to share a drink with _the_ Captain America. Steve beckoned the waitress over and they both ordered a couple cups of coffee.

"So, uh, how's the superhero gig going?" Percy asked during the irregular silence, his hands playing with a ballpoint pen he had retrieved from his pocket.

Steve grinned despite the morbid reality of what had recently occurred in his "superhero" life. "I've been keeping busy," he stated simply, unwilling to expand on what Percy probably already knew. There was also the problem of his inability to reveal plenty of what happened due to S.H.I.E.L.D. confidentiality.

Percy looked around the empty outdoor café in mock consideration, "Can't argue with you there."

Steve didn't know whether or not he was sarcastic, although even if he were Steve couldn't blame him. It took a lot to wear a smile in Manhattan these days, and in a sad bout of side-thought Steve considered that maybe Percy had been one of the unlucky people caught in the streets a few months ago. With another burst of realization, Steve realized for all he knew Percy might have possibly lost someone dear that day in the catastrophe.

The waitress reappeared that moment with their order, setting down the cups and other additives on the table. Steve couldn't help but notice the way Percy drank his coffee black, and with a start Steve understood why he liked Percy so much in their short encounter.

A brotherly instinct overwhelmed Steve. It was unconventional, but Percy reminded him in the slightest of his deceased friend Bucky – a warrior underneath the heart-warming persona – a man who saw too much and died too young. Guilt crept up in Steve's throat so suddenly the smile dropped from his face as the memories of his best friend resurfaced.

Steve wasn't usually one for sentiments, especially during awkward discussions, but he couldn't help but consider the similarities between the two men filtering through his thoughts. Grasping his cup of coffee tightly in his fist, Steve was overcome with a strong need to look out for Percy, to protect those who saw the world for what it was and still manage to stay kind hearted.

It was also incredibly peculiar, considering they only managed to exchange a handful of words. But, as far as Steve was concerned – he trusted his insight on those around him. It had never been wrong. He had also trusted his sense of justice, especially when identifying that justice in others. Steve knew Percy was an anomaly of a man, no matter what he experienced.

Without realizing, he had been so immersed in thought that he managed to shatter the glazed ceramic in his fist, spreading coffee throughout the expanse of the table. Percy jumped up in shock, although not before Steve thought his senses had for once deceived him.

Before he had a chance to contemplate what he may or may not have seen, the waitress came rushing over with a towel draped across her arm. She started cleaning the mess before the liquid dripped to the floor, apologizing profusely for what Steve knew wasn't at all her fault, but he was too in shock to deny her apologies.

Percy had steeled his gaze towards the broken ceramic, curiousity adorning his features in plain sight. It was a look Steve recognized all too well, one of unsureness and calculation, a look that told Steve he might lose whatever trust he had gained from Percy. Percy was a veteran with interesting stories like himself Steve had no doubt, but if what he just saw had actually occurred than he _definitely_ wanted to get to know the guy for more than that reason.

In a bizarre chuckle, Steve attempted to play off the incident for everything it was – an accident – even when Percy's eyes displayed an emotion akin to censure. Steve knew he had less than a minute to convince Percy he was not a threat and that this interaction would be a precursor to many others.

"Look, I should go… It was nice meeting you, Steve," Percy declared abruptly in the midst of the organized chaos much to Steve's dismay.

"Wait – wait a minute, maybe, I don't know maybe we could hang out some other time?" Steve said in his most embarrassing and graceless action yet.

Percy raised yet another eyebrow and grasped the pen he had once more placed in his pocket. Quickly uncapping and recapping the lid on the back of the pen in what looked like a single movement, he grasped a nearby dry napkin and scribbled down a few numbers.

"That's my cell, if you ever want to get a hold of me. After all, it isn't everyday _Captain America_ asks for your number," Percy winked in a playful manner before stowing the pen back in his pocket and walking back towards his bike. Percy slipped on his helmet and within seconds he was seated on his bike and on the road, leaving Steve to his confusion.

Steve was dumbfounded. It wasn't even because Percy had _teased_ him in way that managed to humiliate him further. It also wasn't because the waitress couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the interaction as she continue cleaning the mess.

No, Steve was dumbfounded because he realized he had no means as well as no experience with _modern_ technology. Even more mortifying, Steve now had to ask the ever-so-infallible _Tony Stark _to educate him on the use of a _cell phone_.

Vaguely Steve processed the waitress leaving him to his thoughts once the mess was cleaned up, allowing him to grasp the napkin in a not-so-subtle way. Before he stuffed it into his pocket he couldn't help but contemplate the shininess of the ink from the pen, which shone like bronze across the white material.

Placing a few bills on the table, very well aware he was leaving a tip sizable enough to be considered _more_ than generous, he strode towards where his own bike and helmet lie before suiting up and taking to the street. The hum of his motorcycle did nothing to quench the unease he felt, and only when he reached the Stark Tower did he realize why.

Much to Steve's technological ignorance, he was only partially aware that Percy was about to be cyber-hacked by a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist.

•**ψ•Ω•ψ•**

Peter Parker was having a very weird day.

Even for him this day was in fact weird enough to be considered _weird_. He didn't even know where to start, but he was pretty sure he knew what topped the list.

A chick with red hair was stalking him.

At least it seemed that way. Peter felt as if every time he entered a building, every time he turned a corner – he saw a flash of red hair, and if he was lucky a glimpse of a pair of black sun glasses.

Since the first hour he noticed and he's been trying _everything_ to remain inconspicuous while determining who (potentially _what_) was following him and why. No one could have figured out his true identity – right?

At this point Peter was wondering if that was just wishful thinking.

After all, what other reason would any other girl attempt to tail him – as it currently seemed – during his boring errand influenced activities, courtesy of Aunt May. He wouldn't even tail himself, that's how boring it was.

Even though he managed to figure all that out, he was still at a loss on how to confront the women tailing him without doing something stupid. At this point Peter knew there was like a one percent chance of him being smart about this. He was frustrated and he really didn't want to deal with anyone who might know he's Spider-man.

That said, he couldn't help but be incredibly curious if they _had_ found out, in terms of the _how._ He himself made sure to hack into any Oscorp footage that may have caught his mask-less face on tape while fighting the Lizard, and he was positive there were no witnesses during his fight with Electro and Harry – and _Gwen's death_.

He choked on the emotions that once again welled up inside him at thought and barely prevented himself from hitting something in his now growing frustration. Peter was angry with everything – angry at himself, angry at Harry, angry at Oscorp, angry at the red-haired mystery girl who refused to go away and angry at the pointless life he was now living.

He had given up on all his scholarship ambitions in terms of schooling, kept the crappy photography job from J. Jonah Jameson as well as his daily superhero routine. Even that was becoming increasingly needless since the _Avengers_ appeared out of nowhere, a team of _very super_ superheroes to fight a _very alien_ god-person in the middle of Manhattan. Why not?

Honestly, Peter was so wrapped up in his own problems at the time – his father, Electro, Harry, Gwen – he missed the alien invasion that just so happened to have occurred the very day of Gwen's death. Seems like the universe really just decide to fuck everyone up just because it felt like it.

That's right – he also remembered he was angry at the universe.

His mind was so wrapped up in his mental rant that he practically walked right into a busy intersection when he hadn't noticed the walkway indicated "stop".

_Spidey-sense taking a vacation?_ Peter though grumpily as he shuffled along with the others by his side for the signal to change once again to "proceed". A smaller portion of his mind knew grumbling to himself would change anything, especially the fact that he was being followed, so immediately he attempted to clear his head.

Peter needed a plan.

If Gwen were here, she would have been able to spin something together in a heartbeat while tying all the loose ends into a nice little bow. Grimacing on how his trail of thought constantly managed to drift to Gwen, he started to contemplate a way to corner the woman tailing him.

He could attempt to pull the classic "dark alleyway confrontation" whereas he would abruptly head down an alley and then on confront his pursuer. Then again, it was incredibly cliché and Peter wasn't all too sure he could pull it off. He needed a distraction. Something that would cause him to lose the woman and then he could potential reverse the situation and figure out _something_. He was even _less_ sure of this plan. He supposed the distraction bit could still be useful, more as to catch the red-haired wonder off guard in order to guarantee an escape. Now his only problem was locating an effective distraction.

_Where was the classic burning building, robbery or police car chase when you needed one?_ Thought Peter in annoyance.

He needed _anything_ that would allow him to get out of sight long enough for him to make a trademark spidey-escape using the sky and the ever-so-clustered Manhattan city structure.

He abruptly turned the next corner seemingly off guard, shoving through the people on the street. For now he had the lead and a broken line of sight – but it wasn't enough, he needed something else…

_Bam!_

Honestly, Peter should have predicted he'd topple into someone. Thing is, he didn't expect to be the one thrown back by the force while said person remained unaffected and upright.

Randomly during this millisecond, Peter contemplated on how he didn't believe in chance or coincidence or anything of the sort, but if he did – he would have blamed every ounce of it on this particular moment. After all, he had to be seriously lucky (or unlucky in this case) to do what he just did.

The red-haired woman was completely forgotten in his sprawl of thoughts, despite the fact that he was now in a disgruntled heap on the rather dirty sidewalk, each second passing shortening the distance between them.

Peter wasn't even focused on escaping anymore. He was too shocked to do anything but sit there like a fan boy, because that's exactly what he was to the person standing in front of him.

Then again, who could have predicted he'd barrel right into _Captain America_ in front of the _Stark Tower_.

What were the _fucking_ odds of that?


	7. Thank You Google

**Look who's back after my new two week deadline! *No one cares out your author's notes* *sigh* Well, if any of you are curious enough to read whatever I write up here, I'll give you Marvel fans some amazing news.**

**SPIDER-MAN HAS JOINED THE MCU AND WILL BE FEATURED BY 2017!  
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**I don't know any of the details, but it is true, so hallelujah! (Did I spell that right?) This is chapter was fun to write so hopefully I kept it as umm _logical_ as possible, yeah... and if any of you are like me, you must have been looking forward to reading this. (Did anybody see Big Hero 6? I watched it a couple days ago and oh my god it was absolutely amazing and I'm going to shut up now so you people can read.)  
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**If anyone wants an answer to a review, lemme know in that review! I can PM with longer responses if that's more preferable. Don't forget about the poll on my profile!**

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><p><span><strong>Chapter 7: Thank you Google<strong>

_November 19__th__, 2012  
>12:34pm<br>Earth_

Darcy Lewis was currently astounded.

"Hold on," she said through a mouthful of her cheeseburger, "are you telling me," she hastily swallowed her food as she looked her best friend straight in the eye.

"You _met_ Percy?"

Darcy couldn't believe it. She honestly couldn't. Was Jane actually talking about the raven-haired, green-eyed, scar-ridden, sword-wielding S.H.I.E.L.D. agent whom she herself had just so managed to spend the night – uh, morning – with?

Jane seemed slightly more composed, the only indication as to otherwise be it in the fierce way her hand gripped her cup of coffee.

"Yes, but that's not the point," she began with a slight tone of impatience, even urgency, "the point is – there's something _odd_ about him," Jane emphasized for what seemed to Darcy like the twentieth time. Since they both sat down for lunch, they had their stories of the previous hours to tell. Even now, after half an hour, Darcy were still trying to wrap her mind around the sequence of events.

Darcy also knew Jane was exhausted with her own disbelief by now, furthermore by the numerous questions she was expatiating. Despite that she found she couldn't care less, not when she was this curious as to how this stranger kept popping up in their lives, regardless whether he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent or not. Not counting that she didn't exactly _mind _the supposed S.H.I.E.L.D. agent's presence, even if she wasn't about to reveal that to Jane yet.

Jane raised an eyebrow at the opposing female's rather carefree attitude, "I know that look!" Jane exclaimed frantically, "the guys uses a _sword_, Darcy! _A sword! _And you're giving him _googly eyes!_"

Darcy, instead of replying, took another humongous bite out of her cheeseburger and chewed slowly to give herself time to come up with a denial. "You _did_ look at him right?" she said as she raised a skeptical eyebrow in doubt, "But I guess when you've had a _fling_ with _the _God of Thunder–" Jane scoffed in a very uncivilized manner, interrupting Darcy mid-sentence. Pretending not to hear the intrusion, she continued, "–nothing compares. Not to mention you said Percy actually _saved your life!_"

Jane looked ready to retort until those final three words were stated, causing her to stammer in an attempt to regain her pride.

"You – you _know_ Thor wasn't a fling! He's busy, other planets, Asgardian stuff," Jane elaborated in a rather butchered attempt to change her best friend's opinion, "I also never said I thought your new crush–" at this particular moment in time Darcy choked on a French fry, "–was a bad person," Jane spoke strongly, newfound confidence giving her the fuel she needed as she continued, "but that _doesn't_ mean I believe he's a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. I _work_ with them. I know how they act. But your mystery guy, he was nothing like them. I was _grilling_ him out there – hell I even asked him if he was _Asgardian_–" Darcy whom had been intently listening while drinking her coke in order to dislodge the French fry, spit the beverage out in hilarity at that particular statement.

Swiping a napkin to dry her face and the table, Darcy contain help but let out a laugh, forgetting the unspoken tension between them, "You did _what?_"

Jane jumped at the outburst, clearly not expecting it, and proceeded to quickly defend herself, "He used a _sword_ to do_ something_ to a mythological _beast_ – I mean Thor uses a hammer and the Asgardians are _warriors_ so I just assumed–" her ramble was cut-off by Darcy's snort of disbelief.

"Oh yeah sure, because an _Asgardian_ would be walking around New York, not creating a spectacle and not talking _ye 'old English_."

Jane sat there, shaking her head at the absurdity of the statement to spout from her former intern's mouth. Darcy smirked triumphantly as Jane let the argument sink in. However, she wasn't going to back off yet, "I realized that almost immediately after I asked the question, but wouldn't he have admitted to being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent if he actually was one? _Especially_ since I work with S.H.I.E.L.D.? I mean there's the possibility he didn't know me – shouldn't he have shown even a civilian a badge or something? It didn't even occur to me that he could be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, he wasn't even wearing a suit," Darcy raised an eyebrow at this particular point, "aside from the fact he told me to talk to _you_ to get answers." Jane stopped her ramble with a deep breath, preparing to state her last point.

"Did he tell _you_ he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent? Did he show _you_ a badge? And why don't explain to me again how you ended up spending the _night_ at a _sword-wielding stranger's apartment?_"

Darcy sat there, mouth agape for a noticeable timespan of silence before finding her voice, "I told you already," she huffed in annoyance, "this morning, just before my shift at the bar ended some _thing_ appeared and he killed it," At Jane's rather skeptical expression Darcy re-specified, "Yes, with the sword. But, he _did _just drank like a _bottle _of vodka so I couldn't just let him drive when he potentially _saved my life_–" She abruptly stopped her sentence as if she had forgotten what she was going to say.

Jane face-palmed in a very un-Jane-like way before sighing, "So you drove him home and stayed there – yes, yes, you told me. Did it occur to you that if he was right-minded enough to – to _dispatch _a monster that he would be well and able to drive himself home?"

Darcy didn't miss a beat, "It's illegal!"

"And when have you cared so much about the law?" Jane held up her finger at Darcy's retort, preventing what would be a spout about political science, "Besides the fact that you somehow _don't_ think brandishing a _sword_ in a bar to kill a _thing_ is illegal."

Darcy swallowed whatever reply she had thought of and sat there, sipping her seemingly bottomless bottle of coke. After a moment without interruption on Darcy's part, Jane continued with her verbal assault.

"I'm not even going to start discussing your poor life choices, although I guarantee you I will get back to it. For now, we have to get to the bottom of _this_. I mean this _guy_ just so happens to run into _both_ of us on the same day, supposedly acting like a hero? Doesn't that seem slightly fishy to you?"

Darcy chewed on her straw in thought, "I mean, maybe, he seemed like a nice enough person for the most part – I didn't get any evil vibes from him," her eyes betrayed her uncertainty.

"Look I agree that I don't think he's evil, or at least the evil we're thinking of. If he was he wouldn't have saved us. Even if he is S.H.I.E.L.D. agent – which I highly doubt – they aren't all good people either, they _kill_. Worst case scenario he's another anomaly that even S.H.I.E.L.D. may not be aware of, and I can't believe I'm saying this but it's up to us to tell them." Jane looked slightly resentful, as if the idea didn't completely sit with her sense of righteousness.

Darcy honestly didn't think Percy was all that bad, even if she supposed her opinion could be slightly biased since she was a sucker for his impossibly green eyes. Sure, he'd been cold at first, in the unfriendly sense a stranger is towards another stranger in Manhattan, but he'd seemed way too genuine to be a threat. She also knew Jane understood that much, having spent time with him herself. But Jane also never went to his apartment. It was lonely for what seemed like a light-hearted person, didn't see the photograph of smiling children.

Should they expose him to S.H.I.E.L.D. on the chance he wasn't one of them?

Darcy didn't get to dwell on these thoughts long, it seemed her former employer was onto something, "Do you think it's possible he's the reason why those monsters attacked? I mean, I haven't heard of anything like this happening before, like actual mythological monsters attacking people on Earth. And even if there was, don't you think S.H.I.E.L.D. would have looked into it?" Speculated Jane, thinking aloud in the way Darcy knew she always did when she thought she solved something.

"Maybe they are, maybe _Percy_ is," Darcy answered Jane's rhetorical question as if it were some sort of epiphany, only to fade off into uncertainty, "If he is a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent."

Jane continued as if she hadn't heard Darcy, "Asgard's another story, and this Percy guy seemed too shocked to be compared to Thor to be from there." Jane paused for a few lengthy moments, "That's it! Thor said there are _nine_ realms right? One being Midgard – Earth," Jane clarified at Darcy's confused expression, "and another been Asgard – so what if he's from another realm?"

Darcy's eyes nearly popped out of her skull in disbelief, "You think he's an _alien_? He's way too _normal_ for that, and that's saying something," she exclaimed, incredulity written all over her features.

"I don't see you with any bright ideas," Jane grumbled in a tone very unlike herself. She seemed stumped of all ideas.

"Yes, but I also saw a picture from his childhood. If he was an alien he's lived on Earth for _years_. Don't you think someone – S.H.I.E.L.D. – would have noticed?" Darcy countered.

Jane had nothing else to say it seemed, but she was also right – Darcy didn't have a single idea. There was barely any chance that her original thought of Percy being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was correct. She glanced outside the window of the booth they were sitting at, enjoying the cluttered view of New Yorkers bustling about their everyday lives, without a care in the world for the threats organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D. protected them from. Honestly, she barely knew anything more than what the common civilian could figure out, but having gotten to know one the Avengers, having been involved in something greater than herself once had been invigorating and terrifying. Percy had reminded her of that and for once in her life, Darcy didn't believe all she had to define herself was her "political science major" title.

Lost in thought, she glanced vaguely at the passerby until a boy, probably around ten, caught her eye. He was smiling in the chilly weather, beaming to his mother as he gestured towards items in a storefront window. Eyeing the window in mild curiosity Darcy almost spilt her remaining coke in recognition.

"Jane," she said, eyes wide in sudden realization, "what if he's like one of those good guys, one of those non-S.H.I.E.L.D.-certified heroes like Spider-Man? He's obviously not as well-known but there are so many out there…" Darcy trailed off, unsure where she was headed with her statement.

"Mutants," Jane whispered almost inaudibly.

Comprehension dawned on Darcy's face, "Do you think?"

"It's possible. It seems the most likely out of anything we could come up with, really, without asking the guy," Jane stated in a faraway tone, "Although that wouldn't explain the sword. What should we do?"

They both sat in silence, Darcy finishing the rest of her fries, Jane sipping her still half-full lukewarm coffee.

"So what did he tell you?" Darcy suddenly asked as she swallowed a ketchup-clad French fry.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, about him, about what happened when you confronted him. Did he say anything, I don't know, memorable?" Darcy inquired further.

"I don't really think – wait a minute, he told me the creature that almost killed me was a hellhound. That's the main reason why I thought he was Asgardian – I've only ever heard of beasts' like that in folklore…" Jane trailed off, returning her thoughts to her head.

"Earth to Jane? Hello?" Darcy waved her had in front of her friend's face.

Jane blinked a couple times, "Sorry, it's just I'm trying to remember where exactly I remembered hearing about them–"

Darcy cut off the rest of the sentence with one of her own, "We got phones. We live in the modern era. Free wifi? Any of that ring a bell?" Darcy chuckled as she pulled out her own electronic device before Googling the term _hellhound_. Being Darcy, she picked Wikipedia as the reliable source of information, scrolling to the folklore that contained the beast.

"Okay, it says here that the most common known hellhound is _Cerberus_ – isn't that the three-headed dog? Did the one that attacked you have three heads?" Jane gestured back to the phone in slight impatience, telling Darcy to get to the point.

"Ah, here we go, _Cerberus _is from Greek Mythology. Did that answer your question?" Asked Darcy smugly, silently giving herself a point for outsmarting Jane, if it could even be considered that.

Jane looked intently into her relatively cold coffee, "If Norse Mythology was somewhat real does that make all mythology somewhat real? Including Greek?" She questioned seemingly to herself.

"For that to work wouldn't there be some sort of paradox? Different gods and all that theory and speculation. If what you're saying is true it would be basically impossible to distinguish truth from actual myths," Darcy stated rather intelligently if she said so herself – which she did.

"Well, Thor is real and so are hellhounds," Jane stated matter-of-factly, "and it seems like it's up to us to figure out the mystery of Per–"

"I just thought of something," stated Darcy in a rush, without letting Jane finish, before furiously typing the keywords _greek mythology gods who use swords_ into the search engine. After waiting a painful millisecond, the results popped up. Darcy gasped in surprise.

Jane looked over onto the phone from across the table, her train of thought completely forgotten as she tilted her head in an attempt to read the results. In a fluid motion Darcy flipped the phone around to show one of the top results.

"Who would have thought?" Jane murmured in astonishment.

"So I'm not the only one thinking it," Darcy sighed in relief, "It can't be a coincidence, no way, not after all of this."

"Would it really be a surprise for a mythological Greek hero to be alive? I mean after _everything_ that's happened," Jane played with her coffee mug anxiously, feeling as though they had finally reached a solid conclusion.

"Perseus," Darcy breathed in admiration, "Wasn't he like one of the only Greek heroes in mythology that didn't die a painful death? I mean it explains the sword _and_ the hellhound _and_ the name – Percy! Is it really that obvious?"

"You know, he gave us all the clues. It's almost as if he wanted us to figure it out. I still feel like we're missing something. In Norse mythology they were called Gods, but they just live really long. Greek Mythology had Gods too, didn't they? What does that mean?" Jane went off on a tangent in an attempt to unravel more of this mystery.

Darcy once again relied on her phone and delved further into the _Perseus_ wiki page she stumbled onto, "Do you think Greek Gods are people who live really long too? I thought there was only like twelve of them or something," Darcy questioned as she skimmed lightly throughout the various areas of the wiki for clues. In the end she just ended up reading the basic summary.

"It says here Perseus is half-god, half-human – the son of Zeus. Isn't that the one that ruled the skies?"

"What could it possibly mean to be half-god if they weren't Gods?" Jane pondered before snapping her attention back into focus, "That reminds me. I can't believe I didn't notice it before. I had asked him who or what he was." Darcy looked confused at Jane's assured expression.

"And what did he say?"

"He said he was a "who", _but_ that the line sometimes blurred! Darcy, _everything fits_. Of course the line would blur if he were 'half-god' or whatever it means outside of the actual mythology. _We figured it out!_

"So what are we going to do now?" Jane questioned softly, their success having not solved the problem of what they should do next. "Should we go to S.H.I.E.L.D.? Wait until Thor comes back to ask him – he might know something? I bet if I asked Pepper she would find a way to get Tony to research anything he could find on the guy."

A smile crept onto Darcy' features, "I have a car and his address. I say we confront him about it."


End file.
